


Twenty Three Years

by grayscalee



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sorry Not Sorry, drabble? kinda?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 14:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12278538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayscalee/pseuds/grayscalee
Summary: Just a short thing i quickly wrote for my friend!





	Twenty Three Years

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short thing i quickly wrote for my friend!

At sixty-three, Michael had died of old age.  
  
Rich could barely make it to his funeral.  
  
——  
  
A few weeks in, the nightmares started.  
  
At first they weren’t so bad, memories of seeing him die. Of seeing him lying there, in the open casket. They were manageable, until they started getting far worse for him, the nightmares intertwining with shit from his past. Nightmares of Rich seeing his mangled corpse, of Michael burning alive in a fire, with only him to blame.  
  
He still couldn’t bear to think of them, even now.  
  
——

A year later, Rich had come to terms with the fact that Michael was gone. The nightmares had stopped, and he was a bit happier, but he couldn’t seem to fill his absence.

No matter what he did to try and fill the void, thoughts of Michael seemed to make him feel empty all over again.

——

Fifteen years later, he could barely manage to take care of himself. Most of his day was filled with strangers telling him what to do and when to do it.

——

Around seventeen years later, Rich stopped keeping track of the time. Constant reminders of what the day was, what time he had to take medication, so on and so forth.

He didn’t see the point in any of it.

——

It’d been _twenty-six_ fucking years since Rich had gotten to hold Michael. Since he’d gotten to laugh at dumb jokes, or to sit on the couch watching shitty movies like nothing was wrong.

It’d seemed like forever.

Twenty-six years of asking why he had to leave so soon.

Twenty-six years of wishing it were all just a nightmare and that he’d soon wake up.

_Twenty-six years of wondering ‘why? Why did this have to happen to us?’_

_Twenty-six **fucking**  years of wishing he could just end it all. Wishing he could just hold his husband one more  **damn**  time. Wishing everything could be  **okay** again._

Rich had only noticed he was crying due to the tears dripping onto their scrapbook, sitting in his lap. He had stopped on a particular picture of the two of them sitting together happily, taken only a few years prior to Michael dying.

Rich wasn’t a very emotional person, at least didn’t think he was, but this fucking  _got_  to him.

With everything left in him, he closed the book and leaned back, a small smile forcing its way onto his face.

“I think twenty-six years was a long enough wait, think you can wait a few more mahal?”


End file.
